a nice night
by kerrykins
Summary: Miranda has a dinner appointment with someone she's been trying to avoid.


When Miranda had opened her email today, she hadn't expected to find an email from Andrea Sachs. She certainly hadn't expected a dinner invitation for 7:30 at Pastis. Upon reading the message, Miranda's first thought was how impressive it was that Andrea still remembered her favourite restaurant. Her second, more rational thought, was one of silent, incoherent panic.

Her hands hovered above the keyboard, as if even the most accidental of touches would let loose everything she'd been wanting to tell Andrea for three years.

Miranda shut her laptop, only to reopen it not a moment later with a heavy sigh. Andrea's well-worded email greeted her like before. The text cursor of her blank draft blinked away, goading Miranda to write something— anything. She was too old for this, this ridiculous game Andrea was playing at. Miranda could very well see beyond that facade of sweet nothings like "I hope you're well" and "I'd love to catch up" and the smiley face at the end of the email. :-)

She would not be baited like this, not by the likes of Andrea Sachs; her greatest disappointment that had somehow defied of Miranda's grandiose expectations. Miranda repeated these thoughts to herself to ensure that they stuck. It didn't work, as she gave in and began typing a response of her own.

_Andrea, I don't want to see you. You'll have to find someone else's life to ruin._

She pressed the delete key.

_Remind me who you are again?_

Andrea would see past that in a heartbeat, so it was out of the question. Miranda sucked her breath in and with a few quick keystrokes, strung together four words.

_I'll see you then. -M._

There, something simple and straightforward that would leave Andrea guessing. Before she could rethink it, reread it a couple hundred times, she pressed send. Like it or not, she was having dinner with Andrea Sachs tonight.

"Sarah? Clear my schedule from 7:00 onwards tonight. That's all." Miranda raised a glass of sparkling water to her lips, pretending not to notice the unsteady trembling of her hand. She had more important things to think about, like if she'd greet Andrea with a handshake or just die on the spot.

Miranda showed up at 7:15 because if anything, she was a creature of habit. The maître d'hôtel showed her to a table without confirming the reservation and stammered when he asked her if she wanted to order.

"Not yet," she replied coolly. "I'm expecting someone, which you'd know if you had bothered to check the reservation." Miranda didn't need to glance up from her menu to know he had gone very pale and fled back to the front.

Miranda wasn't actually reading the menu, obviously. She was a regular here and simply didn't want to stare at Andrea when she finally arrived. Miranda pulled out her compact mirror for a cursory glance-over at herself, then snapped it shut after confirming that she had already done all she could to prepare for this meeting. It was agonisingly painful, having nothing to chase away the dread that was beginning to make itself known in the form of cold sweats and clammy hands. She prayed her practised poker face would be enough to hide the fear bubbling just below the surface.

In a daze, she heard the quiet, nearby scraping of a chair's legs. Miranda jerked her head up to see Andrea staring at her. She hadn't aged an iota in the past three years, though she carried with her a new bearing of confidence— quite a change from the meek, stammering girl that had once been her assistant. Her dress was almost identical to the one Miranda wore now, black organza that whispered with even the slightest movement, cinched at the waist with a belt.

Miranda's insides shriveled up and died instantaneously. "Andrea," she said, a little more breathlessly than she'd wanted to. Her throat was suddenly dry and Miranda had the urge to down her glass of water like an animal, as odd as that would have been.

Andrea's lovely face pulled into a smile. "Hey." And with just that one word, brimming with impossible tenderness, Miranda was done for.

They both ordered first; two glasses of chardonnay; one panko-crusted fish with lemon juice; one vinaigrette arugula salad. Long after the waiter took their orders, they still hadn't said a single word to one another.

Instead they took turns sneaking glances at each other when they thought the other wasn't looking, pretended not to notice when Andrea's napkin fell out of her lap and brushed against Miranda's leg. Miranda took big gulps of ice water and tapped her hand on the table to the rhythm of a song.

"So, how've you been?" Andrea blurted. "I've heard Runway's been doing great, especially after that last issue on Met Gala. Anglomania, right? I don't know too much about it, but I've visited the exhibit at the Met and it's amazing. Have you gone yet?" As soon as the words had flown out of her mouth, Andrea frowned, appearing greatly disappointed with herself.

Miranda was grateful for this and raised an eyebrow at Andrea, who grinned sheepishly.

"Sorry, I'll slow down. How are you?"

That was their jumping off point. Andrea's embarrassing outburst proved itself to be rather useful, dispelling the tension between them like smoke. They talked like old friends, breezing through personal topics with a startling ease.

Nothing was supposed to be easy for Miranda, let alone small talk. She didn't possess the ability to feign interest nor the stamina, but now she didn't need either of those. Andrea led the conversation with a confidence that Miranda was begrudgingly impressed by, picking up any slack and stopping any awkward pauses dead in their tracks. They were both too eager, too excited to finish their food, choosing to instead talk between the occasional sip of wine.

The golden lights from the ceiling grew warmer as the day darkened outside, soft like the white wine on Andrea's breath. Miranda was drunk on the bliss of it all. Before she knew it, it was over and they had to leave.

Miranda tried to maintain a neutral expression as she rose to her feet. "It was a pleasure to see you again, Andrea." What she really wanted to say was, 'please don't go yet because I still have so much I want to say to you.'

Andrea gave her a sweet smile. "We're not done yet, I have to make sure you get home safely. After all, what kind of date would I be if I just deserted you?" Miranda stared at her incredulously, while the other woman's smile only grew. "Wait, you didn't know this was a date until now? I even said so in my email."

Miranda opened her mouth to protest that no, she didn't recall reading anything of the kind in Andrea's email, until she realised that Andrea indeed had. "Ah."

"Uh huh. Would you like me to walk you home instead of catching a taxi? It's nice out tonight."

Miranda studied Andrea's face in the cool moonlight, sincere and earnest. Perhaps this could be more than a one-time thing. Perhaps she'd actually get around to asking Andrea the questions she'd been compiling all these years, get some answers, and go on more midnight strolls with this woman.

"Yes," Miranda said.

When Andrea gently took her by the arm, Miranda had come to the conclusion that this had been the most successful and interesting date she'd ever been on. When the bright lights of cars and buildings and stars twinkled behind them invitingly, Miranda decided that she wanted more of this. When Andrea led her to the steps of her home, the townhouse didn't seem so empty and dark after all. When Andrea pecked her on the cheek, her mouth soft and wanting nothing in return, Miranda wondered where this would take them.

For the first time in her life, she was at a complete loss at what to expect, but found that she didn't mind all that much. Andrea Sachs was back in her life, and that was reason enough to celebrate.


End file.
